


Bring Me Back From Darkness

by mildlySerendipitous (Irrisia)



Series: Lux Fragilis [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Horrorterrors - Freeform, More comfort than hurt, One Shot, Post-Game(s), Psychological Trauma, Weird Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 01:05:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrisia/pseuds/mildlySerendipitous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The game was over and done with, years ago, but still you cannot escape the after-effects of those grimdark days, when you are alone and it all comes back more real than this new life could ever hope to be.</p><p>It's a good thing he's around to bring you out of the darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring Me Back From Darkness

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you are currently 19 years old. You are not entirely sure how you ended up here, "here" being this strange new universe almost, but not quite the same as the universe you once left behind both a lifetime and a few short years ago. More specifically, "here" is the couch in your awful student apartment, curled up under a confusion of brightly coloured blankets and throws.

Your friends (except Kanaya, who understands you better than you would sometimes like) sometimes laugh at the sheer amount of covers you keep at the end of the sofa, and you laugh with them, but only in the light of day. You have never told them, exactly, what being wrapped in the umbra of the horrorterrors truly entailed, but you remember it as clearly as you remember yesterday's trip to the local bar; you feel the clammy darkness wrapped heavily around your limbs just as much as the fabric against your skin, hear the whispers of unnatural voices drowning out the television, the abominable feeling of tentacles rooting around in your mind as fresh now as it was then. At night, you can no longer laugh at your fears, not when they all crowd in, held back only by the flimsy shield of glass and wire and electrical current, or wax and wick and flame.

You blearily focus, again, on the screen; the movie you are watching is truly awful, a shallow parody of contrived relationships that bears no resemblance to the real world, but it makes no difference. You do not watch for entertainment, or realism, or comfort; you watch only because the only thing worse than being awake is being asleep, where the warmth of your covers does not reach and there is no sound to interfere with the murmuring. This movie, however, is not helping; you can feel sleep trying to catch up to you, and with it, the chill creeping across your arms and legs, numbing them, dragging them down into darkness. Soon it will reach your chest, then your head, and you will fall again into the endless void between time and space.

"Rose?"

You can hear the call, distantly, but it is too far away for you to respond. You are 13 years old again, and the dark has claimed you for its own, and you do not recognise the voice calling for you.

"Rose, you fucking numbskulled moron," says the voice, closer now. "How is it you have managed to survive this long without remembering to tell me when you're about to do this taintchafingly stupid flashback shit? Were your ears full of wax when I said, and I quote 'Next time you feel like you're drowning in your own immature mindless self-pity bullshit, tell me about it'?"

You think it's a he, and for all the words are said in a wearily caustic tone, you can hear concern underneath them. You just can't place it, though. It's not Dave, not enough monotone metaphors for that, and it's not John, not with the lack of cheerful tone layered over obvious awkwardness.

Then warm arms go around you, and the voice is right next to your ear. "Come back," says Karkat, and you are 19 years old and the horrorterrors are long dead and dust everywhere that isn't your head. Your arms rise, still heavy, and you hold on desperately to your lifeline, and now you can see brown hair and narrowed red eyes and an expression nearly as tired as your own. For long minutes, you just cling to him, thankful he retained the warmth of his blood-colour even after he became human, and he squats awkwardly in front of you and lets you hang on.

Once you are far enough away from the edge of the pit, you let go, reluctantly. Self-conscious, even though this is neither the first or the tenth time he's seen you like this, even though you have told him (and only him) where you go during those black-outs, you fussily re-arrange the blankets that have slipped off. Karkat hovers, for a moment, then makes a decision and just takes the entire pile of blankets off you. You look up, surprised, and start to protest the theft, until he sits down at the other end of the couch and motions for you to curl up next to him. You hesitate, until his breath huffs out exasperatedly and he looks away from you, suddenly tense.

"I apologise," you say, and mean it. You know he does not like physical affection, would not offer it to you unless he meant it, and your hesitancy has hurt him. You are not the only one with scars, you remind yourself, and Karkat's fear of intimacy, of revealing anything more than he meant to show, runs deep. "Give me a moment to compose myself, and I will take you up on that offer, if it still stands.

"I made us coffee," he says, still looking away from you, but at least he relaxes. "I thought we probably needed it."

"Thank you," you reply, and then uncertainty makes you add "I assume there is still an us, regardless of my status as a 'numbskulled moron'?"

"No, I just like physically molesting people I have no connection to. Of course there's still an us, and I'm downgrading your status to 'braindead idiot' for even having to ask" he responds, an acerbic tone returning to his voice. When you first met him, you made the mistake of assuming his ire to be real, but now you know better. You understand that the anger is mostly a front, his tone a cover for the truth he cannot speak, and there are only two times he drops into honest; when he is exhausted and when he is trying desperately to reach someone who he sees needs help. You are one of few people to ever see that side of him. Looking at him, you suspect you will see it again, later. He is physically and emotionally strained to his limits, and tonight you will pay him back for all the times he has been there for you by being there for him. You will reassure him that it is not his fault so many died, that the blank-eyed horrors he sees when he sleeps are not truly the ghosts of his friends blaming him for their deaths, nor could he have stopped their deaths, nor are any of you who made it this far going to die now in any of the myriad ways he sees in his dreams. Afterwards, you will curl up together in bed, and both of you will fall headlong into an exhausted sleep, each hoping the presence of the other is enough to drive away your fears, and maybe you will have a peaceful couple of hours of rest for once.

For now, though, you move down to sit next to him, and rest your head on his shoulder. The movie is still playing the last few minutes, a sappy conclusion unhindered by emotional trauma or true depth of feelings, but you do not need it any more; heat seeps through your clothes and chases away the spectres of those long-gone days of the game you once played. You reach for his hand, twine your fingers in his, and as cliche as it is, you feel comforted by the gesture. Your Seer powers did not follow you through that final door, but suddenly you can see the future anyway; you will never truly escape the past, but you will survive and build something new from here with Karkat. It will be something bright, and one day it will be enough that the cold and dark no longer rule your life. You can feel the truth of it, resonating in your mind, and you turn to smile at Karkat. Caught by surprise, he smiles back, tentatively, and it looks both out-of-place and wonderful. One day, you vow, he will smile naturally, and you will be there to see it, and you will know you are both home.

You are Rose Lalonde, and you know how you got here. You followed a road of lonely late-night conversations with the only other name still online, of break-ups and break-downs and looking for someone to understand, of sleepless nights and tired days and surviving one minute to the next, and it led you to a new universe and an awful student flat and this moment of clarity and comfort.

**Author's Note:**

> I just like the idea of insomnia-buddies becoming something more, and also Rose/Karkat is like my favourite rare-pair.
> 
> There was meant to be something about Rose and Kanaya just not working out post-game, but they are the closest of friends and even though Rose has never told Kanaya about the trauma, Kanaya still knows about it, but it wouldn't fit in. =/


End file.
